Journal. (Yoongi AU)

001.

The music is booming throughout the nightclub, giving intoxicated guests the ability to dance and grind against each other. I stand in my small group of friends trying to catch on to their conversation, but I can barely hear a thing, the unpleasant music muting out their voices. I have an obnoxious headache due to the loud noises and cramped club making it hard for me to breathe.

It's one of my friends' birthdays and they want me to "loosen up and relax for once." I know I've been stressed lately, but this event is only making it worse.

Coming to the conclusion that it was time for me to leave, I tap one of my friends' shoulder and tell her that I was going to head home, wishing her a happy birthday before dismissing myself from the group. I lightly shove my way through the crowded nightclub and am relieved when I make it to the exit. I'm greeted by the cool outside breeze and take a whiff of the fresh air.

I ignore the smell of the cigarettes being smoked by the few people around me and take in the much quieter atmosphere. I can still hear the bass pounding from inside, but it's much better than how it would sound from the inside. I begin walking toward the parking lot until I realize I didn't drive and my friends drove me. I heavily sigh and debate whether or not I should wait until my friends are ready to leave, but I doubt that will be any time soon.

I then head on home and mentally scold myself for wearing the most uncomfortable flats I own. My house was about fifteen blocks from here and my feet would be screaming for mercy the first five blocks.

The streets are extremely empty and quiet at this time of night, other than the area by the nightclub. It's almost one in the morning and nobody is dumb enough to wander the streets this late, except for me. It's a little chilly outside, cold enough to where I'm able to see my breath fog in front of my face.

I rub my hands over my arms hoping that it would make me the slightest bit warmer, but I'm disappointed when it doesn't help at all. My shoes clacking against the pavement echo down the abandoned street and it's the only thing I hear...until something behind makes me jump.

I'm startled when I hear a glass bottle fall and shatter to the ground not far behind me. In my instinct, I turn around to see what the cause was and don't see anything out of the ordinary. I turn back around and continue on my path. But then I hear uneasy footsteps heavily plod a little ways behind me. My heart begins to thump faster than it did seconds ago and I squint my eyes to try to find a figure following me, but my eyes can't make anything though the darkness.

I quicken my pace but find it hard to go any quicker in my shoes, them beginning to slip off. I briskly slide off my uncomfortable shoes and hold them tightly in between my fingers before speed walking. My heart begins to pound even louder in my chest when I hear the footsteps become louder and louder indicating that the figure behind me is coming closer to me. My pulse can be heard in my ears by now and I notice my pace turn into a jogging speed.

I'm only slightly relieved when I spot an alley up ahead. I swiftly turn the corner and lean my back against the wall. My back, bare from the open-back shirt I'm wearing, comes into contact with the cool bricks and gives me even more goose bumps than I'd already formed. My chest heaves up and down when I breathe. The footsteps sound like they are just around the corner and I'm praying that someone will come and save me.

I try to steady and silence my uncontrollable breathing so I won't be noticed by the stranger, but it's too late when I see a cold grimace detect my terrified frame. It's obvious the man is drunk when he stumbles toward me. I try to get as far away as possible from him, but I'm limited the amount of space between us when a wall encloses any more distance for me to get away.

The man looks scruffy and his shirt has what looks like a beer stain spilled all over the front. Although, he doesn't look too old, maybe in his late thirties or forties.